At ten the next morning I was at the motel to pick up Paul for the journey
to break the news of our impending wedding to my parents. That alone was
enough to make me tense and being followed didn't help. A dark Ford had
followed us when Sandy and I took Paul to the motel the night before, but
this morning a brown Buick had taken its place.
At the motel, there were four reporters and a couple of dozen fans. I
parked the car, watching the Buick glide to the far end of the parking lot.
I waited in the car, giving my watcher time to get parked so he or she
could clearly see me and know I didn't set foot in Paul's room when I went
up to get him. The fans recognized me immediately and surrounded me as I
got out of the car. I stopped to talk to them, laughing as one of them
said, “Then he really is here? Thank goodness! I would have missed the
Beatles cartoons all for nothing!”
“I'll bet he is watching it up in his room,” I told them.
“He watches it? What does he think of it?” one of the reporters asked,
shoving a tape recorder microphone in my face. He looked so excited by
getting this scoop, I started to laugh. It was at least a fairly original
question even if I had to lead him into it.
“He just laughs,” I responded.
“He thinks it is funny?” the reporter asked, looking more than a little
surprised.
“Not exactly,” I told him, trying to think of how to get out of this
without saying anything too disparaging about the show.
“He thinks it is daft,” came Paul's voice from above us. “but the music is
good!”
The reporter and I laughed but the girls whirled around, squealing out his
name. I turned with them and looked up. Paul was standing on the
second-floor balcony, leaning over the railing watching us. He greeted the
girls and started talking to them while I went through the inevitable
physical jolt that still hit me the first time I saw him, even if we had
been apart only a few hours. Today it hit hard. There was something about
the motel, the balcony, the smile on his face, something reminiscent of
some photo I had seen of him and the others doing the same thing at some
other motel somewhere around the world. I found myself looking up at him
and thinking, “My God, it is Paul McCartney!” It was only a fleeting
feeling, sort of like deja vu, but it was intense. It took a minute for me
to shake it and by then Paul was walking along the balcony to the stairs
looking so good in blue jeans, black T-shirt, leather jacket over his
shoulder. I watched him, caught between worlds, caught between being the
fan in the parking lot and being ... being ... It wouldn't come to me for a
moment.
The one he is going to marry. In six days! Oh God! If this is a dream,
don't let me wake up!
We spent a few minutes signing autographs and answering reporter's
questions. There were no questions about the Citizens For Decency so they
had not gotten wind of that and assumed Paul's visit was just another trip
to see me. They didn't seem to question why he was staying at a motel this
time, either. All they wanted to know was “When are you getting married?”
and “Are you making wedding plans?”
“Some, but none we want to discuss with you lot!” Paul said, getting a
laugh from everyone. “Now if you will excuse us, we are going to spend the
day with my future in-laws.” Amid a barrage of questions about how he got
along with them, (“They are very nice.”) what did they think of him (“They
think he is very nice.”), etc., we headed for the car.
“Where is our chaperone?” he asked.
“The big brown car down there, right next to the yellow Volkswagen.”
The drive went by fast. We had a lot to talk about. I was worried about how
safe it was to leave Paul alone at the motel all week and knew he would be
bored out of his mind after spending just a couple of days trapped in the
room, waiting for me to pick him up after school. We decided that I would
pick him up early in the morning and drop him off at the apartment before I
went to school. That way he could spend the morning at the dance studio as
he had on other visits, and my attendance record at school would verify
that we weren't spending the day frolicking naked in the apartment.
We talked about going ahead with leasing the apartment after we were
married, but that didn't solve the problem of Paul being stuck there all
day while I was at school. It sounded a lot easier just to move into a nice
hotel suite and let Paul spend the days at the apartment. We would go to my
parents on weekends, spend an occasional evening at the apartment, but most
of the time we would just thumb our noses at the Citizens for Decency and
Mr. and Mrs. McCartney would dine on room service meals in the privacy of
their hotel suite. Alone. All alone.
Paul suggested getting the honeymoon suite at the Radisson for our wedding
night. “Kind of back where we started from,” he laughed.
Of course, there was the wedding to talk about, “Sandy's Wedding” we
laughingly referred to it. More precisely, there was the discussion of how
to tell my parents. We would be tiptoeing through that minefield of rumors
to explain to them why we were doing this, and all the while maintaining
the fragile illusion that we weren't sleeping together. The only way they
would accept our decision was if they knew how serious the threat was and
that meant discussing not only the rumors but the religious aspect of all
this. I knew that even if they accepted our plan, it would be reluctant and
tenuous acceptance at best. When the plan had been to throw off reporters
by having a legal ceremony before the church-sanctioned wedding, Mom had
made it clear that a legal marriage was acceptable only because it was to
be followed immediately by a religious ceremony. Now, rather than a week or
two between the civil ceremony and the religious ceremony, it was going to
be over a month before we got to that Liverpool church.
“Paul,” I said, knowing I had to warn him. “I don't know if Mom and Dad
will come to the wedding.”
He looked at me and sighed. “It could be that bad, eh?”
The only answer I had was a shrug. I knew they wouldn't like it, wouldn't
approve, but how far that would go was beyond me. Nothing like this had
ever come up before.
Paul asked, “If it comes down to that, do you want to wait?”
Getting married without their blessing was not a pleasant thought, but at
this point, I didn't feel I had much choice. “No,” I said.
We drove in silence, and I thought angry, unchristian thoughts about the
people forcing us into this. “Do you think the press will find out if my
parents don't come to the wedding?” I asked as that new concern occurred to
me.
Paul's response was a muttered curse and a groan. “Probably,” he said after
a little thought. “I don't know if they will make a big deal out of it.
Local press here seems friendly, but if the Daily Mail or News of the World
gets hold of it, they will print it. Even if they don't, odds are it won't
stay our little family secret. It's the kind of thing that shows up in some
'unofficial biography' and gets twisted round to something sinister long
after you have forgotten about it.” He was quiet, chewing worriedly on his
lip.
“Do you want to wait?” I asked.
“Because of the press? Hell, no. I just hate the idea of this coming
between us and your parents and I hate pushing you into this when you
aren't ready.”
“I am ready,” I assured him, “and you aren't pushing me. It is the Citizens
for Decency that are shoving me around.” The thought of them made me so
angry, I slammed my fist on the steering wheel. “I hate them!”
Paul said nothing. What could he say? He slid over so he could put his arm
around my shoulders and give me a little squeeze and I settled down. I
didn't want him to think for a minute I didn't want to go through with this
and I tried to explain. “It is just not how I wanted it to be. It's not
that I always wanted a fancy wedding. I never gave that a whole lot of
thought. I assumed it would happen, I guess, but I knew from the start that
it was going to be different if I married you. A Saturday in June at St.
Mary's with all the trimmings would be impossible. Even so, I still thought
it would be a day that would make a difference. This way it doesn't change
much. I am still in school, still so busy with all that. You still have to
go back to England to do the press stuff for the album release and I won't
be able to go with you. I know it will only be for a week, but it just
seems like if we are married we should be able to be together for more than
a couple of weeks before we have to be apart again.”
I didn't mean to get sidetracked talking about his needing to leave. I
stopped and tried to get back to the real point. “We'll be able to have sex
without somebody disapproving but we won't be starting our life together. I
wanted to be able to marry you and move in with you and make a home with
you, be part of your world, be a wife! All we can do here is some
intermediate stage. A temporary arrangement. I guess I am just being
greedy. I want it all!”
Paul sighed and didn't answer. He got out a cigarette and lit it up,
looking glum. After a couple of drags on the cigarette and a bit of
thought, he said, “I see it differently than you do. You feel like we are
giving in to the Citizens by doing this, letting them win. I see it as the
way for us to win by taking away the biggest weapon they have against us.
As Harry said, the drug thing won't get them anywhere. None of us have been
busted for pot and LSD isn't even illegal. All they have is the fact that
we aren't married yet. I understand that this isn't the way you want it to
be. I want it all too, but this is the best we can do right now and it is
enough for me. Just being with you is all I ever wanted. Married or not, I
just want to be with you, but if you want to wait... "
That was said with obvious reluctance and yet I knew he meant it. If I
wanted to wait, he would go along
with it. I felt rotten being so difficult about this when he was right. All
that mattered was whether we could be together without the added pressure
of being monitored by hostile eyes. The press and fans were quite enough to
deal with.
I took one hand off the steering wheel to reach for his, kissed his fingers
and said, “We are getting married. On Friday.”
The Buick had followed us out of town, staying well back, and was still
behind us an hour and a half later as we turned off onto the county road to
my parents. They stopped at the curve in the long drive that had become the
official vantage point from which to do McCartney spotting, but unlike the
fans who occasionally showed up there on weekends hoping he would show, our
escort didn't hang around. I was surprised since they had no way of knowing
we wouldn't leave my parents' house and head for the nearest motel. I guess
they knew that Paul's recognizable face made doing something like that
unlikely.
I had called Mom early that morning to let her know we were coming down for
the day. She was surprised to hear that Paul was with me since he wasn't
supposed to be here until at least next week but she didn't think to
question it. Construction workers had been at the farm all week putting up
the new garage Dad had been waiting for years to build. The concrete floor
was going to be poured this afternoon. When we arrived at the farm, Dad and
Steve were busy working on the overhead doors, all three of them. The
building was not exactly just a garage. It was a garage with pretensions of
being a machine shed. There was room enough for the three cars the family
currently drove, a big workshop space for Dad, and more than enough left
over to store Dad's fishing boat over the winter. We were given the grand
tour and opportunity to exclaim over Dad's pride and joy before I was
drafted into helping get lunch ready.
Lunch was rushed because Dad wanted to get the last overhead door in place
before the cement trucks arrived. This was not the time to discuss wedding
plans. This evening when everyone was sitting around watching the cement
set up and feeling mellow would be a better time. Paul went back out to
help Dad and after the dishes were done, I went out and found him up in the
rafters, holding up one of the door tracks while Dad drilled holes for
bolts.
“If he falls, you'll be sorry,” I told Dad. “The last time a Beatle got
hurt, one of your daughters ended up engaged to one of them!”
“We just thought it would be good if he had a marketable skill in the
construction trade,” Steve explained. “The Beatles are just a fad. Like
Hula Hoops.”
“If accountants knew what they were doing, I'd never have to do another
day's work in my life!” Paul countered.
The cement truck arrived and Paul and I wandered around trying to stay out
of the way. Watching cement being poured and smoothed is not especially
fascinating after the first hour. Paul gravitated toward the pasture where
the horses were and I knew he was eager to go for a ride. He knew I
wouldn't ride and didn't suggest it, but I had ulterior motives and
suggested we go.
“I thought you wouldn't ride!” he said.
“I'll risk it just this once,” I said, thinking of a secluded spot and soft
grass. “Come on, we have to let someone know we are going and I need to go
to the bathroom first.”
Back in the house, Anne was at the kitchen table moaning over the hassle of
writing out graduation invitations. “I don't want to have a big family
thing,” she was protesting to Mom. “I never know what to say to the aunts
and the uncles just drink beer and act silly!”
“I have shelled out for graduation gifts and shower gifts and wedding gifts
and baby gifts and housewarming gifts for your cousins and everyone else's
kids. Now it's our turn to collect and you are going to have a graduation
party!” Mom said firmly.
I cringed because she had already had been upset by the realization that I
wasn't going to be available for the rounds of wedding showers and loot
collection that was a time-honored part of the wedding process. No, this
was not the moment to discuss my plans for next weekend. In fact, it was a
good time to disappear. I zipped into the bathroom and stuffed my pockets
with Kleenex. If we could find a suitable spot for what I had in mind, I
didn't want to come home all sticky.
When I came back to the kitchen, Paul was looking over Anne's graduation
invitations with their personalized name cards, and handwritten notes;
"Reception at the house, Saturday at 7:00 p.m.” Mom was explaining to him
the rituals of the graduation ceremony and receptions.
“Two other cousins are graduating this year,” she told him, “One is having
a reception on Friday night after the graduation ceremony and the other on
Sunday afternoon, so we are going to have ours on Saturday night. That way
people can get to them all. With the new garage, we won't have to worry
about rain and the men will all want to come to see the garage, so we
should have a good turnout.”
You could almost hear the cash register ringing up receipts. “And everyone
will want to meet Paul,” I said, pointing out the biggest reason for a
record turnout.
“Yes, that would be nice!” Mom was finally seeing an advantage to my
relationship with him, but she didn't miss a chance to add, “Everyone will
want to see you before you leave for England, Terry. Since there won't be
any wedding showers for you... "
“Can we come to this, Tess?” Paul asked. Mom looked shocked at the idea
that we might not be there, but I knew what he meant.
“I don't know. I don't think reporters will care about covering a
graduation but we might have a lot of kids showing up.”
“I'll just spread the word around school that you are leaving for England
earlier in the week so you won't be here,” Anne said, solving that problem
easily.
“I think it will be best if everyone thinks that,” I told Mom. “Just tell
that to anyone who asks if we'll be there. We'll just show up and say we
changed our minds and decided to stay an extra couple of days.” Before she
could object, I said, “We are going to take the horses out for a bit,” and
hustled Paul out the door.
As we rode away from the house, it felt wonderful to be outside and not
feel like we were being watched. It was a beautiful, sunny early spring day
with leaf buds just beginning to open out on the trees. We passed the
pasture and turned down the long field road that led to the farthest corner
of the farm.
Paul spurred his horse to a gallop and thundered ahead. Reno, a bay with
quarter horse ancestry but big enough to make it obvious there was more
than that in the mix, was always eager to run. If he didn't get ridden
every day, he got really hard to handle. He was all brawn and no brains,
another indication that his quarter horse blood was rather thin, but still
a lot of fun to ride. I had no intention of doing the same which was
probably a good thing since Snowflake didn't either. Snowflake was white
and small and round. She was that little, part Arabian horse we all started
with and outgrew quickly. Not big on speed, Snowflake only broke into a run
when she was on the home stretch and the barn in sight. Snowflake was the
creative thinker of the two, opening gates and devoting her energy to
finding food. Today she was ambling along eying the fresh green smörgåsbord
of the fence row alongside us. I was too, looking not for lunch but a soft
bed and privacy.
There was a woods across the field, but it was thick and brambled along the
edges and the tall trees would make it a chilly place. I got Snowflake
moving a little faster and when I caught up with Paul at the corner, I led
him along the fence row at the far end of the field. The fields rolled and
dipped in gentle hills and we were soon on the far side of the woods and
out of sight of the house. The back corner of the field across from the
woods ended with a small, lightly wooded ravine that, in the spring at
least, had a little creek running through it. We dismounted, tied the
horses to the fence where they could browse, and went down to the creek.
Paul said nothing as we dismounted, just followed me in silence, knowing
exactly why I had changed my mind about riding. He put his arms around me
and took advantage of the privacy. We stood there in the leaf-dappled
sunshine letting the world slip away. No fans, no reporters, no spies, just
sunshine and warm kisses, slow and gentle, until I just wanted to sink into
last fall's leaves and the spring wildflowers that carpeted the ground in
soft blues and violet and white.
When I pulled him to the ground, that immediately cooled the ardor. The
ground was damp and chilly.
“Oh damn,” I said.
“Wait,” he said and went back up to where the horses waited. Snowflake
nickered her approval when he loosened her girth strap and lifted the
saddle off her. He did the same with his horse and came back with the
saddle blankets and spread them on the grass and that was all we needed.
The ravine would be a cool haven in mid-summer but today it was warm. The
steep slopes on either side protected it from the gentle but chilly spring
breeze and the early leaves on the trees overhead provided a soft sense of
shelter without blocking the sun. Spring wildflowers added a sweet scent to
the rich, earthy smell of the damp ground. Birds provided a musical
backdrop but, aside from them, the only sound was the occasional stirring
of a breeze and the faint sounds it carried from the work going on at home
and a neighboring farmer's tractor as he did his spring planting somewhere
out of sight. No one would bother us here. It was a spot beyond privacy. It
was like an antidote to the world, its eager fans, curious reporters and
prying eyes
Paul was kneeling on the blankets, sitting back on his heels, hands on his
thighs, waiting for me to come to him. I stayed where I was and unbuttoned
my blouse, slipped it off and tossed it on the wildflowers.
He smiled. I took everything off and stood in the sunshine, letting him
look until he simply held out his hand to me. I went to him and let him
take me down on the blanket, feeling the warm sunshine and his warm hands
all as one. I sighed with pleasure and the sound blended with the
breeze-stirred murmurings of the branches overhead.
Paul had a real knack for getting me out of my clothes while retaining his
own, but not today. I undressed him, tossing his clothes aside with mine
and made love to every inch of his body, sun-warmed skin touching
sun-warmed skin. Yesterday had been urgent need, today was slow pleasure.
We made love intently, holding and feeling every touch, every movement,
every kiss to the fullest. Then, comforted, sated, half asleep, we held
each other, only distantly aware of the sound of the horses chomping grass,
the birds chirping, the wind stirring the branches over us.
“I love you,” I whispered, waking to the tickle of a wildflower being
trailed across my breast.
“You are beautiful,” he said. “I am going to buy a place in the country
where I can make love to you in the sunshine whenever I want.”
“Weather permitting,” I laughed. “and English weather doesn't permit much.”
“There's that,” he conceded. “Then I'll buy a place on the Riviera. Or the
Bahamas. Or an Italian villa. I just like you out of doors and naked!”
“Ummm, I like you anywhere, anytime, dressed or not!”
“Anywhere, anytime. I like that!”
The afternoon slipped away quickly and the sun's warmth faded. We
reluctantly got dressed and headed home. Back at the barn, Steve wandered
over as we unsaddled the horses. “Gee, old Snowflake must be in great
shape. A two-hour ride and she didn't even break a sweat,” he observed with
a knowing grin.
I helped Mom fix supper, fending off questions about how things were going
at school with a “fine, fine” and a change of subject. Knowing that no one
would finish their meal once Paul and I dropped our bombshell on them, I
waited until dinner was well underway. I didn't want to wait until after we
ate because everyone would adjourn to the living room except my sisters who
would be doing dishes. I needed their young ears present to forestall
questions about the precise details of the rumors the school board had
heard. I supposed that they could easily be ordered to leave the table if
Mom or Dad wanted that information, but I couldn't do anything about that.
This was the only plan I had.
So, over the meatloaf and potatoes, I told them. Leading off with “Remember
that teacher I told you about, the one who was trying to make trouble for
me?” I led them through the highlights of the week, mentioning only the
most far-out rumors about how I had slept with all of the Beatles and was
on drugs. “Paul got an advisor in to help me.” I didn't want to use the
word lawyer, but when they didn't react with the required degree of panic I
needed them to feel if they were going to accept an immediate wedding, I
added it.
“He is a lawyer from Chicago,” I rephrased it, “and he did some
investigating and dealt with the school for me at the hearing.”
The Perry Mason image that conjured up got their attention. Everyone was as
horrified as I had hoped, and, also as expected, Mom and Dad refrained from
asking about the specifics of the rumors. I let them go on for a bit,
expressing their anger about how unfair all that was. When I had them all
at a nice level of indignation, I explained that even though we had won the
first round, I was on probation. If anything new came up, they could still
block my graduation and even after school was out, they might go to the
State Board of Nursing to prevent me from taking my licensing exam.
“Wait a minute,” Dad said. “How can a teacher do that. After school is out,
she has no control over you.”
“Dad, it wasn't just Mrs. Berghoff like I thought at first. It is a bigger
group. They have been watching my apartment and following us everywhere we
go.”
That brought real indignation. “Spying on you?! Who the hell are these
people?”
“A group called “Citizens for Decency”
Mom and Dad looked at each other, and I could see the incredulousness on
their faces.
“You've heard of them?” I asked. I guess I considered them a radical group
limited to big cities.
“Yes. We have a group at our church!” Mom replied. “ I’ve been to some of
the meetings. It can’t be the same group. We talk about stricter ratings
for movies and allowing Latin masses as well as English, but we don’t spy
on people for heaven’s sake! We have fundraisers and stuff but nothing like
that! Father Amstutz is a big supporter of the Citizens for Decency.”
“Well,” I said, uncertain how to proceed. “That’s who is trying to get me
kicked out of school.”
There was a long silence as my parents absorbed the fact that directly or
indirectly, the Catholic Church was behind what they had just pronounced as
unfair, ridiculous persecution of their daughter. My parents were not the
most rabid Catholics around by any means, but they had always quietly
supported the church, followed the rules, and trusted the church to
determine what was right and wrong. Now a group from that church was
holding their daughter up as a shining example of wrong. As much as they
might agree that the youth of the country were losing their morals, I was
still their little girl. Making a mistake maybe, but I was not the epitome
of sin. The church had just come smack up against parental love at our
dinner table.
The silence hung on, and I looked at Paul. He simply looked grim. Then Mom
said in a loud pronouncement, “I guess we'll have cake for dessert.” She
got up, went over to the refrigerator, got down the cake pan from the top
of it, and brought back to the table and slammed it down.
I thought she had lost it, gone completely over the edge. I looked at Dad
and saw he thought the same. As Mom picked up a knife and began slashing
the cake into pieces, we all sat there, looking at each other in amazement
and wondering what to do. A straight jacket and hefty dose of Thorazine was
at the top of my list.
Abruptly, with a snorted explosion, Anne started to laugh. If Mom had
shocked us, Anne's laughter absolutely floored us. I started to get up,
thinking that Anne was going to get a cake in her face momentarily when Mom
started laughing with her and collapsed in her chair in a fit of helpless
laughter. It was unexpected, unbelievable, and inexplicable. It was also
highly contagious. Soon everyone was fighting a losing battle with the
giggles with still no idea of what was so funny. Finally, Mom was able to
say, “I made it for a bake sale at church tomorrow,” before she dissolved
into laughter again.
Anne finally straightened us out. “A fundraiser for the Citizens for
Decency!” she howled, and we all fell apart.
I laughed until tears were running down my face, Dad laughed himself into a
coughing fit, Steve pounded on his back, Jan ran for the bathroom since
giggling went straight to her bladder, and Rose and Kay tried hard to look
dignified as they wheezed and held their sides. Jenny shrieked with glee
and the dog barked frantically. Paul was laughing at us and probably
wondering if he was about to marry into a family with serious mental health
problems. We passed around a box of Kleenex as we tried to pull ourselves
together. Jenny kept us going for several more minutes by bursting out in
laughter every time it looked as though we were calming down. The fact that
she didn’t understand the joke all and that her laughter was faked in an
effort to keep the entertainment going made it even funnier.
After all that, it was a bit difficult to get the conversation back on
track.
“I don't know if they are financing their surveillance program with bake
sales,” I said, “but they are serious about this. I thought once they lost
the battle to kick me out of school, they would stop, but they can still
make big trouble for me.” I took a deep breath and plunged into the heart
of the matter, “As long as they are out to make trouble, I can't go to
England with Paul as soon as school is out,” I explained.
“Well, it is only a couple more months until you take your State Boards,”
Mom said, lightly, unable to hide the fact that she was glad for the delay.
She probably saw it as divine intervention.
“I'm not sure but what they can cause trouble even after that,” I said.
“They might be able to get my license revoked, or make enough trouble that
I can't get my certificate to practice in England. That's pretty unlikely,
but I thought we were out of their reach when I got to stay in school and
they still won't leave us alone. There is only one way to get them off my
back."
Mom and Dad knew what was coming and that sobered them up quickly.
“So you want to get married,” Dad concluded.
“Yes. Right away.” I took a quick breath. “Friday,” I said.
Their eyes moved immediately to Paul.
“I know,” he said. “This isn't at all what I had promised you, but it seems
to be the only way to stop these people. Once we are married, they can't
accuse her of immoral behavior.”
“You can't get married that quickly,” Mom protested. “You have to post the
banns and—”
“You're right. There isn't time for a church wedding." I had to tell the
rest. "That will have to wait until we get to England. This will just be at
the courthouse.”
Her face was registering dismay and I hastened to add, “It will be just
like we planned before except we'll have the civil ceremony here. After we
get to England, we can have a priest do it right.”
There was a long silence before Mom said, “But you won't really be married
all that time!”
I tried to answer as gently as possible. “Not as far as the church is
concerned, and that means not as far as the Citizens for Decency are
concerned, but we will be legally married and that is what the Board of
Nursing will look at—and the Citizens know that and know there won't be any
point in hounding me anymore.”
More silence.
Mom's face was losing that wounded, worried look she had worn for months.
In its place was resolve and a stubborn set to her jaw that spelled
trouble. This was pushing it too far.
“Mom, it is the only way I can go to England with Paul when school is out.
We have to get married before I go.”
“You don't have to go right away. You can stay here until after your state
boards.”
“We have been too far apart for too long already,” I said firmly. I was
going.
Steve stepped in to try to negotiate. “Why not wait until right before you
leave? Then you could have a church wedding right away in England.”
“I... " I couldn't say we didn't want to because they were keeping us from
sleeping together.
Paul answered for me. “Yes, we could wait but until we are married, they
are going to be watching Tess. They have been all week. They are outside
the apartment day and night, follow her wherever she goes. They even
followed us here today. I know what it is like to have fans and reporters
on you every minute. It gets to you, makes you feel like you have no life,
much less privacy. This is worse. These people aren't reporters or fans
looking for a picture or autograph. They are out to get Tess. They want to
destroy her nursing career.”
He gave that a moment to sink in before he finished. “This week has been
hell for her and it won't get better as long as they are after her.” He
shook his head. “It won’t stop until we are married.”
I could see that they understood and believed what he said but Mom was
still unable to bring herself to accept our plan.
I tried again. “Look, Mom, no matter how or when we do it, we are going to
have to have a legal ceremony first. Whether it is to throw off the
reporters and fans or to keep the Citizens for Decency off my back we are
going to be married outside of the Church first.”
I knew the minute I said it that I had chosen the wrong argument. She
simply couldn’t accept a marriage not blessed by the Church as a true
marriage. She hadn’t liked it when it was a short term measure and she
would not approve of it now that it was going to be months between wedding
and sanctification of that union.
Dad stepped into the silence that followed, trying to smooth things over a
bit.
“Terry, I guess we just always thought that we would have a big wedding for
our oldest daughter.”
“You can come to England. We can do it then. A real wedding!”
“That is not the point!” Mom spoke up, angry and not trying to hide it any
longer. “You will be living together for months before you are married!”
she said. “Everyone will know it! You can't do that!”
I was getting angry too. The last week had been awful and I was tired of
being pushed around. “Yes, we can!” I responded. “I'm twenty-one and I
don't need your permission—” I could hear Paul saying “Tess, don't,”—but I
was on a roll. My voice got louder. “And I don't need the Pope's approval
either! We are getting married. We'll have a church wedding later if you
want, but it is the Church that is making it impossible for us to wait!
Don't you think I'd like it to be an old-fashioned church wedding? A real
wedding with bridesmaids and organ music and a priest to make everyone
happy? I'd love to have all the bridal showers and a reception with Polka
music and Uncle Larry getting tipsy and all my friends there, but that
isn't going to happen either! We are getting married Friday whether you—”
I hadn't realized I had gotten to my feet until Paul grabbed my arm and
pulled me back down into my chair. “Enough,” he said, half command, half
plea. I looked at him and he put an arm around me and pulled close. “That's
enough, love,” he said more softly. “This isn't helping.”
Predictably, I started to cry. I didn't seem to have any control left.
“Oh, bloody hell,” Paul sighed and put both arms around me. The only sound
in the room was my sniveling until Jenny started to cry, frightened by the
fact that the grown-ups in her world had just gone nuts. Jan pulled her
onto her lap, cuddling her, but Mom was in tears too. She got up and left
the room. So did Dad, only he grabbed his coat and went outside. My sisters
dematerialized promptly. Steve started clearing the table and Jan took her
still crying baby upstairs. Dinner was over.
“Oh, bloody fuckin' hell” I heard Paul mutter under his breath.
“Sorry,” I said, pulling myself together. “I guess I blew that.”
“Oh, love,” he said. “This is crazy. All I want is to love you and make you
happy and all I have done is make you miserable. I am the one who is
sorry.”
“I'm not miserable,” I protested with one final sniffle against his chest.
“I am happy, and I am going to marry you and then we'll really be happy!”
That brought a little smile to his worried face. “Oh, honey, if you get any
happier I'll never have a dry shirt!”
I started to laugh. The hell with the rest of the world. All I needed was
his smile and his arms around me.
Paul sighed and leaned back in his chair. “What do we do now?”
“We leave and get married as planned on Friday.”
“If that is what you want, love.”
“It is, but I have to apologize to Mom before we go.”
He raised an eyebrow at that.
“Don't worry,” I said. “I am through yelling and I am through trying to
explain. I am just going to apologize, tell them we are going ahead with
our plans, and then we'll leave.”
He still looked skeptical. “Maybe I should talk to her. You aren't your
usual tactful self tonight.”
“It's a mother-daughter thing. She brings out the best in me,” I said with
a degree of dry honesty George would have been proud of.
Paul grinned. “I think I'll step out for a smoke!”
I laughed at him. “Go ahead. I'll be out in a minute.”
Relieved not to have to attend yet another scene, he got up, grabbed his
jacket, kissed me quickly and headed outside.
I stalled for a couple of minutes, carrying the last few dishes from the
table. Steve looked at me, shook his head, and went back to washing dishes.
No help from big brother. I went looking for Mom and found her in the
laundry room folding clothes with a vengeance.
“Mom, I am sorry I got so angry. This has been a terrible week. I thought
sure they were going to throw me out of school. If we don't get married—”
“Are you pregnant?” she asked abruptly. The words cracked the air so
sharply that it was as though she had snapped the towel she was whipping
out of the stack to fold.
I was startled by the question and my response was a surprised and emphatic
“No! We don't have to get married—not like that.” I explained. “I just
don't know what else to do! They are watching us, Mom. It is so creepy! It
scares me that people can hate someone so much when they don't even know
them.”
That seemed to sink in and she slowed down her abuse of the towels.
Encouraged, I went on. “I can't go to England with Paul and he can't hang
around here for months. I don't want to be half a world away from him
anymore. I know a church wedding is important to you, but I can't take
this. We are going to get married and get on with our lives. I don't expect
you to like it—I don't like it this way either—but I want you to be there.”
Silence. The washing machine stopped, I took the clothes out and began
tossing them in the dryer.
“A legal ceremony the week before to fool the reporters—people would
understand that,” she said, “but this ... I can't go along with it. It
isn't a marriage in the eyes of God, and I won't be a part of it.”
She was calm and firm and regretful and final.
I guess I finally recognized then that she wasn't being obstructive or
unreasonable just to be difficult. She was simply following the dictates of
her religion and conscience. She wouldn't be at the wedding. I could feel
last night's headache revving up. How it would look, what the press might
do with the news that my parents had refused to attend the wedding was
secondary to the simple fact that I wanted them there. This wedding was not
going to be the wedding I had hoped for as it was. Without my parents, it
was going to be a miserable excuse for a real wedding. Worse, her refusal
to attend was a line I didn't want to step over but when it came down to
it, I would. My parents were the past and Paul was the future.
I finished loading the dryer, closed the door, and set the timer. “All
right,” I said quietly. “I am sorry you won't be there. Will you let the
girls come if they want to?”
“I don't know,” she said. I waited a moment, trying to think of something
else to say, but I was teetering between anger and tears. I left the room.
I picked up my jacket and purse and went out to find Paul. To my surprise,
he and Dad were together, sitting on the tailgate of Dad's truck,
cigarettes in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. The fresh air
felt good and the sight of the two of them talking over a beer, apparently
on the mellow side of peaceful coexistence, eased my heart a little. I went
to them and gave Dad a grateful hug.
“I'm sorry I got so mad. Mom won't come to the wedding on Friday,” I said.
“Will you?”
He hesitated and I knew the answer. Dad was not as religious as Mom, but he
wouldn't come without her. “I can't do that,” he said.
I nodded, understanding his loyalty.
From an upstairs window, Anne called down to me, “Terry don't leave yet!
Come up here!”
I sighed. She was going to want to come to the wedding and, as much as I
wanted her there, I didn't know if I dared encourage her to go against Mom
and Dad.
I looked at Paul apologetically. “I'll just be a minute.”
“Quite all right,” he said, reaching behind him and replacing his empty
bottle with another beer. Dad had a six-pack in the bed of the truck. “I
could use a few more of these anyway.”
Dad agreed. “I'll drink to that.” He reached for another for himself and
the bottle opener. “Sorry I can't offer you anything stronger.”
Paul shook his head. “I don't do well with anything stronger! Three or four
drinks and I'm anybody's!”
Dad replied dryly but with humor, “Well, I don't have
any of that locoweed either.”
Paul chuckled. “It would take a joint the size of a Havana cigar to put
this to rights,” Paul informed him.
That got a chuckle out of Dad and I left them watching the sun go down as
they started on another beer.
Mom was in the kitchen, but I slipped past and went up to the room that I
used to share with Anne. All three of my sisters were there, and as soon as
I was inside, the door was shut behind me.
“We have an idea!” they all said at once.
“Would you be willing to wait until school is out to get married if it
meant you could have a real wedding?” Anne asked.
“Guys,” I said wearily, “when we get to England, Paul's family will give us
a big reception, but the whole wedding thing, there is no way—”
”Yes, there is!”
“It doesn't have to be in a crummy old courthouse!”
“You can wear a bridal gown and Uncle Larry can dance the polka!”
“And you can have a priest do it!”
They were all talking at once and none of it was making much sense until
Anne finished up triumphantly “And I won't have everyone staring at me once
they realize that they are here for a wedding!”
The light dawned. They wanted to turn Anne's graduation party into a
surprise wedding.
“All the relatives will be here!”
“We can decorate the new garage!”
“Nobody will be expecting it!”
“They won't even know Paul is going to be here!”
“You don't need invitations—they will get invitations to the graduation
party!”
“All you need to do is get a cake!”
“Then you can go straight to England with Paul just like you planned in the
first place!
“And his family can still have a big reception for you once you get there!”
“And Mom will be happy!”
“And it is only a few weeks!”
“Please?”
I sat down on the bed, my mind whirling.
How would Mom and Dad feel about it? Better than our current plan for sure,
but still... Sandy would be thrilled to plan something closer to a real
wedding. Could we get a priest to do it this way? Would Mom let us do it if
we didn't? Could we pull this off without anyone knowing there was to be a
wedding? And the really big question—would we have to play polka music at
the reception?
It was a great idea and tempting, but the Citizens for Decency would be out
there, waiting for a slip. Was it worth the risk? Did I want to wait four,
no, five weeks? Paul certainly had made it clear that he didn't want to,
but he also said he would if that is what I wanted. Was it worth it asking
him to wait, making him stay alone at the hotel for weeks in order to have
something that would feel like a wedding, like the beginning of a marriage?
An image of myself in a wedding gown settled in my mind and my heart. How
right it would feel to stand in front of family and friends and say “I do”!
I looked at my sisters' eager faces, not certain what to say. It was a
great idea in many ways. A way to gain Mom's cooperation, have a family
wedding instead of a courthouse procedure, and a perfect cover to give us
the privacy we needed. On the flip side, it meant letting the Citizens
control my life for five more weeks, making Paul stay alone at the hotel,
never being alone with him. Worst of all, I felt I had already put him
through so much trouble. As appealing as the idea was in many ways, we had
finally agreed to be married Friday and I didn't want to tell him I had
changed my mind again. I tried to explain again to my sisters why we didn't
want to wait.
“We can't wait that long,” I said. “They are watching me all the time just
waiting for something to use against me. Besides, Paul came all this way so
we could be together. Until we are married he'll end up spending most of
his time in a hotel room. ”
Anne protested, “Then he should have some say in it. You have to at least
talk to him about it!”
She had me there. The stupidest thing I had ever done was not talk
something out with Paul. I could present the idea to him as something my
sisters dreamed up, not my idea. “OK,” I said. “We'll see what Paul says.”
I opened the window. Paul and Dad were still there and Steve had joined
them.
“Paul, could you come up here for a minute?”
He looked up. “Ah, fair Juliet, thou hast but to beckon and I am there.
Forsooth, thy beauty in the dying of the day maketh a foolish knave of me.”
“So do a couple of beers!” I called down to him.
I heard a comment about The Taming of the Shrew from Steve and a laugh from
Paul as he got up from the tailgate and moved toward the house.
We let Paul into the bedroom and he looked around and spotted the
assortment of Beatles pictures on the wall over the dresser. He walked over
to look at them with an amused smile on his face.
“Oh geez, this is weird!” Anne said in a hushed voice.
“Weird?” I asked. “I'll show you something even weirder! Watch.” I got up
from the bed and stepped over next to Paul. He looked at me questioningly.
I moved closer. He wasn't sure what I was doing, but his arm automatically
went around my waist and he pulled me lightly against him.
“See?” I said. “The cute one has his arm around me!”
My sisters burst out laughing and agreed that it was even weirder than just
having one of them standing in our bedroom. Paul just shook his head at us
and went to sit on the bed.
“What are you girls on about?” he asked.
“They have an idea,” I began. I sat him down on the bed and laid the idea
out for him, carefully trying to present it neutrally, pros and cons. “It
is just one possibility we didn't discuss,” I said.
He listened quietly, and when I finished with, “What do you think,” he just
smiled agreeably and said, “If that is what you want to do.”
Paul had been so considerate about all this wedding nonsense but this was
hard to believe. “How many beers have you had?” I asked, laughing at him.
He held the bottle in his hand up to the light. “One and ... ahh ...
Three-fifths. How many times do you plan on getting married in your life?”
“Once!”
“Then I think you had better make the most of your one and only wedding.”
It occurred to me about then that I had put him on the spot here. How could
he say “No” and not come off sounding as if he was more concerned about the
inconvenience to him than any other aspect of the situation? Was he holding
back his real feelings in order not to seem the bad guy here?
“Hold on,” I said to him. “This is more complicated than that. You don't
want to wait for another month, and neither do I, not with the Citizens
breathing down my neck. I know I have been dragging my feet, but I still
think we should go ahead and get married Friday as we planned.”
“That was before we knew your parents won't attend,” Paul pointed out.
There was a group “Oh, no!” from my sisters who hadn't been around to hear
this final part of the discussion with Mom.
“Then we can't be there either!” Rose said.
Paul went on very seriously. “Love, you're the one taking the risk by
waiting. It is your nursing career so it's your decision. Besides, if there
is a chance for a compromise with your Mum, you have to consider it. All I
want is to end up married to you.”
Was it worth waiting to have a big family wedding and my parents' blessing?
That was a big consideration, but so was worrying about what the Citizens
for Decency might do and never being alone with Paul. Nevertheless, the
nasty reality was that getting married only removed the issue of current
and ongoing sex with Paul. There was still the possibility they would learn
of our unchaperoned trip to Scotland. Or John. Furthermore, if all that
fell through for them, they could always go back and try the drug
association stuff. I was nowhere near as sure as Paul and Harry that
wouldn't work. Even after I got my license, a drug bust would get it
revoked. Paul had promised there would be no drugs at the house, but he had
not said he would stop smoking pot. Drugs, sex, and rock and roll. My
nursing license was going to be in jeopardy anyway. I sighed. “Why does
this have to be so complicated. I just want to get married like any other
girl.”
“If you want this, then I want it for you,” Paul said.
I looked at him, unable to make a decision even with his willingness to go
along with whatever I wanted.
He put the beer down on the floor, turned to face me, and took my hands in
his. “Look, Tess, I guess I always thought that whoever I married was going
to be one lucky girl marrying a Beatle and all, but with everything that
has happened to us, I see it differently now. I can give you a fancy life,
but the price is high. For me being famous is pretty much worth it. I like
what I do. But for you, it has been nothing but trouble so I want to give
you the house in the country, the villa, a Jaguar or Rolls, whatever you
want. If what you want includes a perfect wedding, I want you to have it.”
I put my arms around him as I thought about that.
“Remember the first time you kissed me?” I asked.
“Of course. Moonlight and roses.”
“It was perfect,” I said and he nodded in agreement
“And Scotland?” I asked
“Oh yes!” he said.
“Perfect,” I said.
If Anne still wondered if we had been having sex, now she knew not only the
answer but the time frame and location. I went on. “And the day you asked
me to marry you, the way you asked. It was—”
"Perfect?” he finished for me with a smile.
“Yes. So I don't need a perfect wedding. I've got all that and you.”
“Are you sure, love? It is the only wedding you'll ever have, and you and
Sandy are right. We shouldn't do it because of those bastards, not even for
your parents. We should do it for us. The way we want it.”
Two images fought in my mind. A dingy government office and Paul and me in
street clothes. Mike would be there if he could make it, Brenda and Mark
and Sandy. Steve and Jan would come, but not Mom and Dad and they probably
wouldn't allow my sisters to be there. That scene competed with the big new
garage full of flowers, music, family, bridesmaids, a priest, real vows,
Mom and Dad looking happy in front of the guests no matter what misgivings
they still might have.
Waiting meant being watched, risking more trouble, sneaking away for sex or
going without it, but sitting here tonight, sated with the afternoon's
lovemaking, it didn't sound so awful. We could live without sex for a few
days and when we wanted to be alone we would find a way. Paul could still
spend his days at the apartment as he had the last week. He wouldn't be
stuck in the motel all the time. He would have to be back in London for a
while to get Sgt. Pepper out anyway.
All that was temporary inconveniences. I was hurting inside over the fight
with Mom and afraid of what walls might go up forever if we went ahead with
the civil ceremony. Worse, it all might be for nothing. My nursing career
might be short anyway. It wasn't a hard decision after all.
“I want a wedding,” I said.
My sisters cheered and Paul was rewarded with a four sister hug which he
tried his manly best to return.
We trooped downstairs, reassembled the family in the living room and
presented the idea.